That's What She Said
by madame.alexandra
Summary: How many every-day prhases in the English language have a sexual connotation? Simply ask one Leroy Jethro Gibbs who, amongst isinuations, double entendres, and general inapprorpiate-ness, can't seem to keep his foot out of his mouth today.


_A/N: Because I'm perverted and because its fun._

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs glared at the elevator doors as they opened with the customary _ping_. He swore they were sliding open slower than usual, but that was probably because every single thing in the universe was conspiring against him on this particular freezing cold, muddy and snowy, December day.

He was frustrated.

Diane had called and yelled at him. Then _Stephanie_ had called and _cried_ (he was still trying to figure out why). His car hadn't wanted to start, his socks and shoes were wet through with dirty snow, and his hair wouldn't cooperate.

Not to mention he was feeling inexplicibly sexually frustrated today.

He shot DiNozzo a mean glare to quiet the younger agent's inevitable comment about his cow lick.

He slammed his coffee cup down on his desk and sat down moodily, hopefully making it clear he wasn't going to put up with petty nonsense today from his nonsensical band of miscreant agents.

He could feel them giving him wary looks. Their fear pleased him slightly more than it should.

Slowly, they resumed their conversation in quieter voices.

Gibbs opened an e-mail demanding his presence in autopsy. He scowled. He was going to have a talk with Ducky about never, ever summoning him via e-mail ever again.

He caught the tail end of his agents' conversation as he stood up and snatched his coffee cup, intent on storming angrily into autopsy and consoling himself by frightening that Palmer kid.

"You get the final say, Ziva, you know her better. Would a live spider or a live rat scare the Director more?"

"What kind of scared are you aiming for?"

"Loud, terrified shrieking that shocks the entire building."

Gibbs rolled his eyes at the shallow conversation. He should probably give Jen a heads up, but he could use some amusement. He'd be summoned to kill the vermin, though. He hit DiNozzo on the back of the head with an annoyed look and the other agent yelped, leaping away.

"Sorry, Boss—"

"I can make Jenny scream," Gibbs growled.

DiNozzo stopped rubbing his head and gave him an odd look. Ziva and McGee, he noticed, had also gone from looking relatively normal to amused or awkward. He was tempted to ask what the hell was wrong with them…

…until what he'd just said hit him like a ton of bricks and he mentally kicked himself.

He stormed off towards autopsy and heard Tony snort suggestively behind him.

Yeah. This was definitely going to be a frustrating, bad day.

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs glared at his old friend. He wasn't pleased with what he was hearing.

"Are you tryin' to tell me you don't know how he died, Duck?" he growled, dissatisfied.

"Jethro, its hardly that simply. A conglomeration of things may have contributed, what I cannot tell you is if it was intentional or—"

"How am I supposed to tell the Director that we don't know what the hell happened to the Commandant of the Marine Corp's perfectly healthy brother?" Jethro interrupted loudly.

Ducky stared at him.

"My. You have woken up on the wrong side of the bed."

"I slept under the boat," Jethro snarled, rolling his eyes as he looked down at the gaping chest cavity in front of him.

"I am sorry I can't quite help yet, Jethro," Ducky said sympathetically, "but, ah, speaking of our mutual friend the Director. She is my Secret Santa recipient this year and I wondered if you knew what I should get the woman who, essentially, has everything..."

Ducky trailed off at the annoyed look in Jethro's eye.

"How would I know what she wants?" he growled.

Ducky shrugged half-heartedly.

"Did you not have her a few years ago?" he queried.

"Yeah, I did her a few years ago," Jethro answered.

And then his ears registered exactly what he'd said and how it sounded in context. Ducky lifted an eyebrow at him. He glared at Ducky in response, turned on his heel, and stalked out, leaving the awkwardness of the statement behind.

"Did…he just say what I think he said, Dr. Mallard?" Palmer's awestruck question was the last thing he heard before he escaped to the sanctuary of the elevator.

* * *

The first thing he did when he strode into Abby's lab was smack her music off in one fluid movement.

He was not in the mood for heavy metal death tunes, especially considering his foot happened to be stuck in his mouth right now.

Abby turned to him with a lovely, bright smile that faded to seriousness when she saw the look on his face. She tottered back to her computer and pulled up the fingerprint results he was waiting for.

"There were no suspicious prints at his house, Gibbs. No one was there who shouldn't have been, and no one had touched what they shouldn't have touched," Abby smirked a little, "though the fingerprints on his tightie-whities did not belong to his wife."

"Then _someone_ touched what they shouldn't have touched," Gibbs muttered, glaring at her.

Abby smiled.

"They belonged to his _mother_," she informed Gibbs. He grimaced. Abby nodded, confirming the oedipal weirdness of it.

Gibbs turned to go, disturbed by the cheery atmosphere in Abby's lair, but she called him back.

"Wait! _El jefe_!" he turned with a glower. She smiled and her eyes sparkled, undaunted this time by his cloudy demeanor. "Can you do me a favor? The NCIS Christmas party…will you ask the Director if she—"

Gibbs rolled his eyes, interrupting her, aware of what she was going to ask.

"Jenny always comes."

Abby stopped talking and gave him a slightly wide-eyed look, her mouth still open.

"Um, excuse me?" she asked.

Gibbs blinked. He yelled in frustration inside his head. How could he possibly have managed to shove his foot even further into his mouth?!

"Never. Mind." He growled pointedly, storming out before Abby could muster a joke.

He scowled viciously at anything and everything in his path on the way back up to the bullpen.

How many more times was he going to inadvertently make a sexually connotated remark today?

* * *

He barged into Cynthia's office twenty minutes later sans coffee cup. He'd managed to spill it all over himself when one of the probies came tearing down the hall and smashed into him. Cynthia gave him an amused look as she noted the coffee stains.

"Where's the Director?" he demanded forcefully.

"She is in a meeting, Agent Gibbs," Cynthia answered calmly, hanging up her phone with an infuriatingly calm look.

"I need to talk to her," he growled.

"That will have to wait."

"I'll make it quick," he snapped sarcastically. "Dammit, Cynthia, cut me a break. I need five minutes."

"For some reason, I don't trust you to make it that fast," Cynthia said sardonically.

"It's always over really fast when Jen's involved!" he snarled, and briefly closed his eyes after Cynthia didn't respond right away.

He hoped to whatever God was listening she had a pure, innocent little mind, and didn't catch the double entendre behind those words.

What was wrong with him today?!

Cynthia sighed and shook her head.

"No, Agent Gibbs. You will wait like everyone else. She'll be back at noon."

Now, what he meant to say was '_Do you know how hard I am working_?' but, apparently, something catastrophic happened between his brain and his mouth and he mangled the sentence to a highly inappropriate degree:

"DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD I AM?"

It took him all of five seconds to process what he'd just said. Cynthia was looking at him in complete shock. He didn't exactly know how to handle the situation at this point.

This day kept getting worse and worse.

Cynthia cleared her throat.

"_Well_," she said delicately, "I'm not sure how much the Director can help you with that, but I suggest you address it _yourself_."

She stood up and gave him a look.

Without a word, Jethro turned around and stormed out of her office.

He planned to throw himself out of the window before Jenny (or heaven forbid, DiNozzo) got wind of this.

* * *

"Do not move that, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped, as he rounded the corner and caught Tony attempting to shove something in the neatly redecorated lobby away from its intended place.

"But Boss, I—"

"I don't care."

"I lost—"

"Zip it, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled.

Tony stood forlornly next to the bookcase and sulked. Jethro rolled his eyes, jerking his head towards the door so Tony would come with him to their next destination. He didn't give a damn what stupid item the senior agent had lost behind the bookcase.

"Boss, I was going to up it back, I swear—"

"Don't touch it again," Gibbs snarled, rounding on his agent, "The Director likes it up against the wall."

Tony blinked at him and straightened up.

Gibbs cursed violently to himself as he saw the small smirk that crept across DiNozzo's face.

"Oh, _reeeeallly_, boss? She does?" he prodded mockingly.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had never hit even a _probie_ so hard in his entire NCIS career.

* * *

Three inappropriate comments, one insinuation, and four double entendres later, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was sulking alone in the barest yellow light at his desk, attempting to pull something—_anything_—on the latest high profile case out of his ass.

Not long after lunch, he'd decided to just stop talking, particularly after he'd informed Ziva that Jenny 'liked it rough'.

He couldn't even fathom what had made him say that, or what they'd been discussing.

It just wasn't his day.

Clearly, the fact that he desperately needed to get laid was affecting his ability to communicate like a normal man.

Cynthia had been the worst. He was still cringing over that debacle.

He was glaring at the file in front of him when he caught the scent of her expensive perfume and looked up warily. His eyes met hers instantly as she walked briskly down the stairs, veritably storming into the bullpen and coming to a stop directly in front of his desk.

Her green eyes were narrow and sharp, her lips pressed together tightly, her posture rigid and angry. Her cheeks were flushed slightly and she had a hand on her hip. The atmosphere around her crackled with dangerous electricity.

He was doomed.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," she growled in a low voice, "What the _hell_ have you been talking about with my employees?!" she demanded.

He groaned and sunk low in his chair.

He could defend himself, but he'd probably just accidentally tell her he wanted to touch her breasts.


End file.
